


The Storm Before the Calm

by Parthenopaon



Category: Book of the Ancestor Series - Mark Lawrence
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Things Get a Little Heated Near the End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parthenopaon/pseuds/Parthenopaon
Summary: "You're my friend," Nona whispered."And you're mine," Ara affirmed."So you understand."Her fingers trembled. "I do.""Then why?""Because I'm tired of running. And I hope that maybe someday, you'll slow down enough for me to catch up with you."Nona and Ara have a conversation almost ten years overdue. Clera, Ruli, and Jula are there to add an encouraging word and a kick or two. As always, friendship is the bond that holds them all together.





	The Storm Before the Calm

All hunska die young. 

So proclaim the fight-masters, the theologians and physicians alike.

As far as Nona was concerned, burning bright did not mean you had to perish at the peak of existence, foolishly becoming the spoke that bespoke the rule. And if Clera's shouting and gesticulating held any merit, Ara was determined to die as young as could be managed without including conventional suicide in criteria.

"Are you trying to get us all killed?! Or is it just me you want rid of?"

The look Ara graced Clera with could never have been mistaken for warm. With an unusually strong wind howling across the plateau, stealing warmth with teeth sharp enough to scour stone, that was no small feat. Frost glittered on Ara's bearskin cloak, little pinpricks of light scattering about her golden hair. Even covered in congealed blood and the unique stink of death, she drew Nona's eye in a manner wholly unbefitting a Holy Sister. 

"Clera---" Nona tried to interrupt, wary of one friend's eerie calm and the other's spectacular temper. 

"Oh no, you don't," Clera snapped. "This one," she hissed, shoving her finger in Ara's face, "almost cost me my head. Look, see this? That's the stump of an arrow sticking out of my ass. Out of my ass, Nona! If I hadn't turned around it would have torn my insides up!" She whirled on Ara, teeth clenched so tight Nona could swear she saw sparks fly. "If you're so eager to bury your face in the Ancestor's luscious bosom, be my guest. Next time just let them cut your fucking head off and get it over and done with!"

"Clera!" Jula scolded, face growing redder around her wind-scoured cheeks. She cast furtive glances towards the big house, no doubt calculating the risks of dragging them all clear of the abbess and her considerable wit. 

"Don't 'Clera' me. Why is no one worried about the arrow in my ass?"

"Probably because it isn't_ that _ bad if you've got the energy to keep yelling about it," Ruli said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her friends were one wrong word away from murdering each other within full view of the Dome of the Ancestor. Of the three who'd set off after the deserters, Ruli appeared the least affected by the monumental blunder that alerted everyone and their grandmother of the Church's presence. No stink graced her clothing. No rips or tears indicated she'd participated in battle. Only a thin streak of bloody mud on her boots gave away her involvement. That, and her overly giddy demeanor.

Nona grimaced, adjusting her headdress and cloak. "Let's just get you to Sister Rose." Her toes and fingers held little feeling, the two layers of clothing barely enough to keep her insides from freezing over.

"Oh, yes. Let's do that. Let's also conveniently forget who got it put there in the first place. It's such a mature way to deal with our problems, isn't it?"

Nona took a deep, steadying breath and asked in the calmest voice she could muster, "Do you want me to help you there, or do you want to stand here yelling at Ara?"

"I don't see why I can't do both."

"You won't be seeing anything for much longer if Ara knocks your lights out." Ruli's blase attitude, while the calm to Clera's storm, nonetheless made Nona want to bang her head off the nearest wall. 

"No one is hitting anyone," Jula said, channeling the ferocity Abbess Wheel had often used to render even the most valiant sisters into mute, scolded children. It worked about as well as putting out an inferno with a cartload of wine. 

"Of course there will be hitting," Clera hissed. "There will be hitting, screaming and teeth flying every which way once I'm done here." From Clera's hunched posture and blood-soaked trousers, Nona concluded it wouldn't be Ara's teeth clattering about the ground. Neither would she be the one screaming to the high heavens. Rage was clearly getting in the way of her ingrained instinct to survive any and all comers, or Clera would have realized her considerable disadvantage. 

"There. Will. Be. No. Hitting." Jula, furious now. 

"Maybe there should be a little?" Ruli suggested amicably. "Just enough for them to get it out of their system?" She nodded as if agreeing with herself. "You have to admit that this has been a long time coming."

"Get what out of who's system?" Jula waved her hands. "Ara hasn't even said anything!"

While true that Ara had yet to verbally goad Clera's fury into a fever pitch, Nona wasn't so certain her silence indicated a lack of anger. Oh, she was calm. But it was the calm a heartbeat before a land-breaker tore the earth to bloody furrows with claws of lightning and teeth of thunder, hurling boulders with the finesse of a Red Sister putting her fist through a foe's face. 

And none who'd ever witnessed Sister Thorn step unto a killing field could ever accuse her of having mercy in abundance. Perhaps Clera was due a reminder, or maybe she was too self-centered to care. Either way, Nona needed to separate them before anyone said anything truly regrettable. Once fists started flying, fights between masters were awfully hard to break without breaking anyone in turn. "Ruli," she said, "take Ara to the abbess. She needs to know what went wrong. Clera, with me." She placed a calming hand on Jula's shoulder. "I would appreciate it if you could pray for us, sister." Nona would need all the help she could get.

"Prayer?" Clera spat. "Save it for another time. Save the funeral rites for her too. We'll need them sooner than you think."

"I think," Ara said slowly, rolling her shoulders back, "someone should alert Sister Rose to prepare for operation."

Ruli frowned. "What operation? The arrow isn't that de---"

In the space between heartbeats, while Nona uncurled her fingers from Jula's shoulder, twisted her legs, and fought her body's reluctance to comply with her speed, Ara's shoulder smashed into Clera's stomach. The sound of air being crushed from lungs was almost a physical blow itself. 

Nona dashed forward. She wrapped her arms around Ara's waist and lifted her clear with a grunt. She prayed no elbows would find her face. That no heels would crush her toes or skulls come crashing into her own. Especially the latter. The last person to suffer a headbutt courtesy of Sister Thorn still walked around addled, his eyes never losing their squinty cast or confused cloudiness. 

Ara snarled, but made no move to vent her frustrations on Nona. Her breathing remained deathly calm, tension whirring taut through her frame. Her lightly calloused skin spread heat as she wrapped her fingers tight around Nona's wrist. 

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break any bones," Nona whispered into her hair. The copper tang of blood, the sharpness of resin and a gentler, subtler scent coated Ara's hair, soft curls tickling along Nona's cheek in a thoroughly distracting manner.

As if aware of Nona's wandering mind, Clera groaned. Blood sheeted down her face, her nose lying at a rather odd angle. Dark eyes gleamed through rapid swelling, an even sharper gleam caught in her sneer. "Let her go," she growled, voice thick. "I'm not done with her yet." What few hits she'd managed to land hadn't done more than inflame Ara's conviction. Wrapped in serenity, she could have beaten Clera's face and her own fists to a bloody pulp without a reaction more extreme than a slow blink. Apparently, that did not deter Clera from getting herself beaten even bloodier.

"I hope," Abbess Rule said, voice carrying clear through the wind, "there is an astounding explanation for why I find nuns brawling at my door like common gutter fighters. Well, Mistress Blade?" she asked, arching her brow in a way that made everyone other than Ara and Clera flinch as if they were but one wrong twitch away from being trashed for being unruly brats. "Start explaining. Make it quick, thorough, and spare me the embellishments."

"Abbess..." Nona's arms tightened around Ara's waist. Abbess Rule was no Wheel, but neither was she above using the willow switch on disobedient novices or unruly nuns.

Clera clutched her backside and groaned pitifully, looking like she'd been the victim of an entire gang of brutes rather than a single nun. Jula was pale, Ruli grinned like the thief who made off with the emperor's jewels and the royal sister's virtue to boot, while Ara shrugged out of Nona's arms, expression indifferent. 

"We were---"

"A minor difference of opinion, abbess," Ara spoke. "Nothing a quick talk didn't fix." She narrowed her eyes a fraction, glaring at Nona over her shoulder. 

Abbess Rule blinked. Already a woman of considerable height and weight, she appeared a giant standing on the top step. She looked down her nose at Clera, now gripping the wooden haft sticking out of her trousers, to Ara, her knuckles bleeding, a thin stream of blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow. "Yes, a very minor difference of opinion." Her skepticism was beautifully hidden. "The next time you find yourself in need of such riveting conversation, Sister Thorn, I expect you to have it far away from my house." Her eyes, dark and intense, met Nona's with a gravity befitting stars. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, abbess."

With a shake of her head and a muttered, "Martial Sisters," Rule returned to the confines of the big house. Nona could have sworn she saw someone wink at her right before the door slammed closed.

"What is wrong with the two of you?" Jula hissed. Headdress askew, she looked half a hair away from proving why going fist to face with her was still an ill-advised idea.

Ara shrugged. "A few cuts and bruises."

"This and _ her _."Clera, so very eager to remind everyone, that yes, she very much still had an arrow embedded in her ass. And yes, it was through some convoluted twist of fate, Ara's fault. 

And Ruli, who seemed intent on making everything about this situation that much worse. "I thought it was entertaining. A bit too fast for my taste, but great hits too! Those shiners are going to last Clera a few weeks at best."

Nona, her bones a hairsbreadth from creaking like the frozen branches of a great pine, was in no mood for more of their crabbing. "Enough." Her growl tore out of her chest, sounding more like a devil's than a nun's. "You," she all but jabbed her finger through Ruli's shoulder, "Stop spending so much time at the Caltess. We're your sisters, not brawlers to wager expensive wines on. You", she said, looking down at Clera, "be quiet unless you want me to stick you with something larger than an arrow. You," eyes narrowed on Ara's, her disappointment plain, "stop rushing headlong into the grave. No one cheers when you crawl up the Serren Way victorious and half-killed. And you," --Jula almost leaped out of her skin when Nona grabbed her arm--"join me for prayers. Please."

At this point, the little Red Classers fresh into their habits displayed more maturity than women midway into their twenties. 

"Nona," Clera groaned, "are you really going to leave me here? I'm bleeding!"

"Don't look now," Ruli said, squinting at Clera's soaked trousers, "but I think the arrow's gone even deeper than it was before."

"What?! Damn you, tell me you're joking!"

"Can't you hear it scraping bone?"

Clera sobbed like a woman more disappointed at having lost a brawl in a refuse strewn alley than one with an arrow sticking out of her backside.

Ara stared into the distance, an odd expression on her face. The stillness of serenity had left her, and in its place lingered a kind of hurt, mute and blunted of all ferocity. It was not the first time her seeming lack of self-preservation was brought to bear. But it was the first time Nona had aired her grievance with such public fury. Whether it would make a difference remained to be seen. Sister Thorn could be remarkably thick-skulled where battle was concerned.

Nona made sure her friends got a good view of her displeasure before turning away. Ruli could drag Clera to Sister Rose, and if Ara remembered to get over her petulance, she might even lend a helping hand. 

For the first time since taking her orders, Nona all but flew into the warm embrace of the dome. Perhaps the Ancestor might loan her patience. She had no more to spare. 

  


X

  


"Clera's language could use less crassness, but she's not wrong." Jula emptied the remaining incense burners, carefully tipping the small golden jars into a bucket. "Thorn has been unusually reckless. It's not the first time Clera's come back injured after joining her on assignment." 

Nona scowled. The Ancestor's golden visage remained impassive. Her prayers for a new reserve of patience had gone cruelly unrewarded. "Clera was exaggerating. It's what she does." A consummate teller of tall tales, Clera could make a trip from one end of the cloister to the Necessary resemble a war on three fronts, with traitors lurking both within and without. Much like Ruli, anything she said was to be taken with several bowls of salt. "Ara is acting reckless, yes, but she'd not endanger them on a whim. Commander Halan knew full well his days were numbered. Do you think he set no preparations in place?"

Jula's jaw dropped. "Please tell me you're joking." She dragged Nona closer to the lanterns, as if needing to read her thoughts as soon as they formed. "Thorn attacked a veteran battalion _head-on_ while Clera and Ruli were in the middle of their camp. You _ did _ see the arrow, right?"

"Yes, but---"

"No 'buts', Cage. She could have gotten all three of them killed. How many times does she have to scrape by on the skin of her teeth before you admit it?"

Nona shrugged off Jula's hold. "Admit what?" Her voice sounded overly loud, bouncing through the hallowed confines of the dome in odd cadence. "Ara's a Red Sister. Killing people is what she was trained to do." The words tasted like ash and incense on the tongue. "How many times does she have to prove she's capable of protecting herself?" The question carried a bitter edge and an even more bitter answer. 

Jula's scowl matched hers in stubbornness if not intensity. "We were_ all _trained to uphold the Ancestor's peace, Sister Cage, and yet neither of us are in a hurry to unite with the Ancestor. Will you stand there and tell me Thorn is protecting herself when she comes back bleeding half to death after another duel?"

"That was different."

"How different? It almost killed her!"

"But she came back." That was most important. Not the sleepless nights that had followed. Not the ringing in her ears and the blood that had poured from her nose whenever she tried to reach out across their thread-bond. Not Ara's grin when she admitted, in the dark of night, the duel had been the most exhilarated she'd felt since taking her vows.

Jula sighed, all the fight going out of her. "You're not blind, Nona. Don't pretend to be. You're not doing yourself or Ara any favors by pretending there's nothing wrong."

Guilt would never be an easy burden to bear. Nona knew that as much as she knew her temper, her lack of patience, the petty jealousies she spoke nothing of and the pride that had blinded her more than once would depart only when molded smooth by the Ancestor's unity.

Jula did not often refer to them by their given names. A proper Bride of the Ancestor, she firmly believed the lives they'd lived before taking names and vows no longer need decide who they were as nuns. And nuns ought to know better than to be tempted by such lowly needs as destruction. 

"I'll talk to her." She did not promise it, because she loathed making promises she couldn't keep. And the strange dance Nona and Ara engaged, conscious or not, did not make speaking about such deeply personal matters easier than friendship perhaps should have.

Jula made no reply. Maybe she believed Nona would do as said. Maybe she was tired of having to cajole her friends into admitting their wrongs. Or maybe she didn't think the conversation would change much. 

Nona certainly wouldn't be the first to raise the question of Ara's reckless abandonment.

X

"That was unkind," Nona said, pushing the door closed before the wind could steal any more of the bathhouse's damp heat.

"She could walk," Ara replied distractedly. "And scream high enough to rival the bells."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You didn't have to hit her."

Ara frowned at a particularly stubborn knot, her fingers finding little purchase in her wet hair. There were two buckets at her feet and a wide-toothed comb awaiting use. Steam curled in lazy tendrils about her calves, lending her skin a hazy sort of luminescence. The multitude of scars did little more than add to her already fierce beauty, as much a part of her as Ark-steel blade and black-skin armor. Nude she might be, but it was a nudity that proclaimed her body more weapon than vessel. 

"You're staring."

Nona scowled, a guilty flush spreading rapidly across her face. "And you're trying to deflect."

"If I wanted to talk about Clera, I wouldn't be here. And if you're going to stare, at least help me with this." She flicked aside an impressively tangled curl, its ends still clotted with blood. Pink trails winding down her skin revealed more blood had kept to her hair than had her blade, a consequence of dashing through several flat-footed soldiers perhaps. 

"Fine." Nona stepped quickly out of her habit, snagging steam as she went. Years later and she was still shy about showing too much skin. Had Clera been here she would have mocked Nona for being a prude while proudly strutting about, showing off as much skin as could be shown without being _ too _ lewd. It occurred to Nona that her friend while being but an honored guest of the convent, enjoyed quite a few privileges while here, the bathhouse and a large, comfortable bed included. Only the abbess could boast of the latter. And the novices. Certainly no nun would ever declare her cot the height of comfort.

"Isn't it time for a trim?" Nona asked, carefully picking her way through a host of overly stubborn knots. For a woman with such soft hair, Ara's curls were oddly resistant to taming. Though she supposed it was the blood that did that. 

"A trim?" Ara couldn't have sounded more disbelieving had Nona questioned the circumstances of her birth. "You want me to cut my hair?" She turned to look at Nona over her shoulder. "Really?"

"Well, no. Not really." Her golden mane was nothing if not impressive, and while Nona and the sheep shears would always remain acquainted, she had no desire to see them taken them into Ara's confidence. "But the abbess has been grumbling and we both know your headdress isn't up to par." It made her think of Sister Apple, who'd always engaged in a sort of uneasy truce with her wimple. Had the novices wagered on how many times a day she had to make adjustments, Nona might have rivaled the emperor himself in wealth by her twentieth year. 

Ara snorted. "Not my fault, is it?"

"How so?" Nona asked, pouring a few handfuls of water down Ara's head. "Isn't it your hair getting in the way of the Church's prescribed paths to virtue?" She still had no inkling of what a woman's virtue or lack thereof had to do with uncovered hair, but she supposed Jula had to know. She knew everything about a little of anything and could probably give an explanation that wouldn't soar over Nona's head with yards to spare.

"That is true," Ara said, her words laced with good humor, "but isn't it also true that our wimples are a bit short of regulations?"

"Wait. They are?" That would explain quite a lot. Nona herself possessed three of the things, and none ever seemed to be the same length twice. "I thought it was Ruli switching them out!"

Ara laughed. She tipped her head back, the slick skin of her back rubbing across Nona's thighs. "Why can't both be true?" Her eyes held a merry twinkle. "The thieves have never been shy about pawing through your things _ and _the Church has never shied from cutting corners. What's a bit of cloth compared to that?"

"Precious little," Nona grumbled. She drew the comb through Ara's hair, working the remaining tangles smooth, bottom to top, careful not to tug too firmly. 

Ara practically melted, her contented sighs encouraging the steam to dance about them in a slow vortex. Limited though they were, her marjal skills nonetheless showed surprising creativity in their appliance. Ruli had taught her how to form humanoid figures with thick fog and subtle shadow, and Ara had once used it to send forth a howling, multi-armed impression of a devil. It might have been funny if she hadn't gutted the harried brigands right after. "I think I should let you comb my hair more often." Her breathless voice damn near weakened Nona's knees.

"And what will you give me in turn?" Nona asked. "And remember, sister, simple thanks are appreciated, but snacks even more so. Especially the filled buns. The berry ones." As if in agreement her gut rumbled. "And maybe a few crab rolls and---"

"Ancestor!" Ara interrupted, following up a friendly pinch to Nona's calf with an outraged, "This is extortion! Berry buns, crab rolls and what else? A promise of eternal celibacy?" 

Nona gently tipped Ara's head back and asked, "Don't I remember us swearing the same vows?"

"Do you? I'm not sure…"

Nona grinned. "Good. Then I'll take the buns, rolls _ and _ a promise of good health. _ Your _ good health." 

Ara's returning grin practically fractured. So slow as to mimic blood flowing from a bone-deep slash the body had yet to register, her good humor faded. Her voice, when she spoke, could have frozen fire solid. "We're not talking about this." 

"Would you rather tell me how much truth there is to Clera's little tale then?" Nona's tone was firmer than intended. As was common, her tongue did as it pleased, ignoring her intentions entirely.

Ara jerked forward, fingers gripping the bench so tight her knuckles paled. "I'm sitting here, completely naked, your hands in my hair, and all you want to talk about is _ Clera _?"

"I… What? That's not---" Nona's jaw dropped, a multitude of words crowding her mouth, the witty replies she spent practicing in the black of night nowhere to be found. Mortification colored her the red of sunburst tomatoes from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. While she grappled with her wits and suddenly numb tongue, Ara shook her off. 

"While you stand there debating, I'll finish my bath. It's been a long day." Gone was the annoyance. Now she just sounded tired.

Nona reached out. "But…"

Ara didn't look back. She emptied the buckets over her head, combed through her hair twice more, and stalked off. Only a slight interruption to the rhythm of the water's cadence indicated she'd entered the pool.

Nona stared after her, unsure if she wanted to follow. She knew, or thought she knew, the source of Ara's sudden exhaustion, and it had nothing at all to do with Clera.

After cleaning and setting aside the comb, Nona mustered the tattered edges of her courage into something feasibly unassailable. Ara was her friend. No matter how much she shut herself off, she would leave space for Nona to eventually reach out. It might not be tonight. It might not be tomorrow, but eventually, she would come around. She always did. Sister Thorn had it not within her to cling to petty grudges. 

The waters of the pool welcomed Nona with soothing heat, washing the cold from her bones before she'd even fully immersed herself.

Once she'd been so small the water almost closed over her head before her toes found the bottom. Now standing bared her breasts for anyone who bothered to glance her way, and hot water remained one of the few joys in life for which she genuinely thanked the Ancestor during prayers. One of the others being that she and Ara rarely had cause for argument. At least, not arguments of such delicate nature. If this could even be called an argument. 

Nona barely resisted the urge to huff. How to go about untangling this glorious mess? Surely Kettle would know. Right? She knew a lot, had likely had such...confrontations herself and… 

Ara held her silence in the opposite corner. Sullen perhaps, or serene. She'd developed the habit of retreating within during times of stress. It allowed her to keep a calm head but left her curiously unaffected elsewise. Much as Nona envied such easy serenity, she didn't think she'd be better off insulating herself to such a degree.

"Maybe we could talk about something else? About us? Or something like us. Or..." Nona really, really wished her words could, for once, be as on point as her flaw-blades. At this point, a conversation about the rooster eating hens would prove a far less dangerous conversation topic.

Clera could wrap almost anyone around her little finger using little more than a wink and some vulgar jokes. Ruli too, could impress with her jests and gossip. Jula, the most well-read person in the empire, could recall tales so old, they made the Sis Houses seem absurdly young. But Nona? Her talent seemed to be blundering her way through anything that didn't involve someone getting skewered for some world imperiling scheme. 

Surprisingly enough, Ara didn't laugh or roll her eyes. The sculpted planes of her face softened, though she had yet to look Nona's way. It was odd to see her being so reticent, trance or no. "That depends."

"On?" Nona was whispering now, hoping to keep her tongue from hurling her into even deeper waters. 

"How honest you want me to be." Ara met her eyes then and Nona's breath caught. Whatever easy answer she'd been prepared to drum up died a swift and sudden death. Her face might yet be a mask, but Ara's eyes, so light and blue and searching, made clear this would be no run and done conversation. Hunska speed would not avail her here. Neither would lies. Wrapped in serenity, the thread-scape open to her sight, Ara made for a formidable opponent. Manipulation was still beyond her reach, but she'd developed a unique sense for danger. And right now, Nona knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she presented the most formidable threat to Ara's well being as had yet been faced. 

As with most truths, it stung. Fiercely. As fierce, perhaps, as being struck with a battle-ax. Or having a broken sword gouge deep enough to strike bone. The first she had experienced courtesy of their thread-bond; the second still at times had her waking at night, clutching her thigh and grinding her teeth as her leg ached as if Yisht had struck her only yesterday.

"You don't think you can be honest with me?" While she'd participated happily enough in some of Nona's schemes over the years, Ara had displayed little cause or need for lying. That she thought she'd need to now ached in a way Nona couldn't quite explain. 

"I'm afraid," she admitted in a whisper. 

Flaw-blades sprang from the tips of Nona's fingers, her eyes scything through the steam hovering thick near the entrance. "I won't let anyone hurt you," she growled, heartbeat leaping into the wild tattoo of a battle drum. Was someone in the convent plotting against her friend? If so, who? Who could it be that Ara didn't simply tumble head over heels on her own? And why was she afraid of telling Nona? Unconditional support was hers without having to ask for it. Surely she knew that?

Ara's tremulous smile was knowing. "I'm afraid this is one of the few things your blades can't cut."

"You don't know---"

"You ran the last time I kissed you."

_ \---that. _

"Oh."

_ Oh. _

_ Of course. _

Realization hit like a ton of bricks. 

"You're afraid of me?" Her flaw-blades slipped from her fingers as if detached from her being. A horrified sickness spread through her gut as Ara looked up, stricken. 

"Nona, that's not---"

"_ I'm _ the one you're afraid of?" Repeating the question made it no less horrifying. Nor did it chase the doubts from her mind. It made a twisted sort of sense, Nona supposed. There were only three people still walking Sweet Mercy's halls who could stand against Ara, two of whom risked suicide should they do so without subterfuge. But Nona? Devil tainted, short-tempered, a killer born who'd always struggle with her nature? The urge to laugh damn near choked her.

"I'm going to be very upset," Ara said softly, cupping Nona's face between her hands, "if you don't get out of your head and really listen to me." She stood so close now, the warmth suffusing her of a different sort than that of the water. "Will you let me explain?" She searched Nona's eyes, expression open and kind. 

Her tongue still beyond control, Nona nodded slowly. Ara's hands captivated no less than her eyes. Even had she wanted to pull away, take the easier route and run from what she knew was coming, Nona knew she would have left a vital piece of herself behind. 

"I'll say this once," Ara said, "and hope I never have to repeat it again. Will you listen?" She waited for Nona's confirmation before continuing. "I'm not afraid of you. Never have been, never will be." Her thumbs traced slow arches across Nona's cheekbones, a killers fingers, as much at home hurling throwing stars as they were digging into eye sockets. But still so achingly gentle, so considerate. "No matter how dark the expression on your face when you don't get your way, you'll never be near frightening enough to rival the hare that attacked me in Hanson. Compared to that you might as well be a newborn bunny."

Nona choked a laugh. "Are you saying I'm fluffy?" 

"And funny. Kind too. Even soft, when you put down your blades." 

As mortifying as Ara's comparison was, Nona couldn't find it within herself to object too vehemently. "Please don't tell anyone else this. My reputation would never survive." 

Ara's smile damn near undid Nona's knees. "I won't. I like being one of the few who know you're not nearly the nightmare everyone else thinks you are." 

"Then why did you say you were afraid?"

"Because this time you know." Though her smile faltered, she stepped closer, close enough for her breath to play about Nona's mouth. "You know I want more than a kiss. And I don't know if you'll ever want the same." She frowned. "If you'll ever_ let _ yourself want the same."

"You're my friend," Nona whispered.

"And you're mine," Ara affirmed.

"So you understand."

Her fingers trembled. "I do." 

"Then why?"

"Because I'm tired of running. And I hope that maybe someday, you'll slow down enough for me to catch up with you."

"You're waiting."

"I've been waiting for a long time, Nona, and I can wait longer still if you need me to." She meant every word. Nona could see it reflected in her eyes, in the conflict that played out across her face. Such beauty. Such grace. So much _ hurt _...

"And if I tell you to go?" Nona had to know, _ needed _ to know if this was worth a friendship forged, not through deceit or desperation, but through simple kindness. Needed to know if her friend would still be here should this, whatever _ this could be_, collapse beneath the weight of time and expectation. Nothing was worth a friendship such as theirs, not even desire. Not even a taste of the elusive _ love _ that still followed in the shadows of Kettle's smile.

"If that's what you need, then I'll let go." It hurt her to say it. Every word a barb kept from her voice. Every word a battle played out across the sculpted planes of her face. Once the subtleties of expression would have been dismissed, Nona eager to cut herself off from ever truly contemplating where this could lead. Ara was risking hurt, rejection, hope, all on a gamble to finally _ know. _ "But I won't leave. Not again." Brave as ever, her Thorn.

Nona drew a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly, still holding Ara's eyes, brushed a kiss into her palms. First one, then the other, her lips left tingling. "If you promise you'll always be here, then I'll promise to give this a chance." It was as much as she could manage without lying through her teeth.

Ara's eyes widened. She stepped back as if, even while she'd placed her heart on the precipice, she couldn't believe Nona would follow her there. "Nona…"

"Be brave, Sister Thorn." Nona cupped their hands together, entwining their fingers. "I think I'll need your help to get out of here."

A soft, incredulous laugh. "Then we'll both drown, I'm afraid. My knees are awfully unsteady at the moment."

It felt good to know that Nona's knees weren't alone in their inexplicable weakness. 

X

"Alright. What's wrong?" Clera demanded.

"What's wrong where?" Nona asked distractedly. There was a hole in her outer habit, barely large enough for her little finger to get through. Were there moths in her dresser? Again? Where did they come from? Why her habits specifically?

"This! You!" She twirled her finger. "The expression on your face."

Nona looked up. "What's wrong with my face?" Had the moths gotten to that too?

Clera rolled her eyes. "Don't play stupid on me, Nona. You've never managed to bullshit me before, and you certainly won't now."

"She's right," Ruli said, eyeing Nona with a knowing sort of intensity. "There _ is _ something different about your face."

Nona sighed. "I really don't know---"

"Wait," Clera interrupted, looking past Nona's shoulder as if someone could be hiding in her shadow. "Where's Ara? She owes me an apology and I damn well want it before I leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But Sister Rose said you should rest a week at least."

"So what? It was just an arrow," Clera said as if she hadn't nearly bawled Sweet Mercy's walls down complaining about her backside.

"And we're meeting a Brandy merchant in Honisport tomorrow." Ruli mimed a large prize. "Important contract, too important to wait for Clera's ass to get whole. It's only getting smaller as it is."

Clera twisted in the sheets, her hand swatting out, hunska-swift. Ruli ducked, avoiding the slap with a hairsbreadth to spare. 

"You've gotten better at this," Nona said, impressed Ruli had seen it coming.

"Thanks." She grinned, dusting her jacket off. "It's sort of required when you're surrounded by twitchy hunskas." 

According to Jula, Ruli's unusual ability to dodge hunska attacks likely had a lot to do with her marjal talents developing in an environment where a good number of girls moved faster than thought, where avoiding them thus took priority to going fist to face. "Let's hope she doesn't grow a third eye next," had been Ara's reply. So far Nona could see no evidence of such an occurrence, not unless the eye was hidden somewhere beneath Ruli's ridiculously long mane. 

"Speaking of twitchy and hunskas, where is Ara? I still haven't given her the pomegranate wine she asked me for."

Nona shrugged casually. "She left this morning for an assignment. Shouldn't take her too long if she's careful."

Perhaps she'd overplayed her hand because both women looked her over with eyes no less sharp than her Ark-steel blade. 

"So soon?" Ruli asked.

"Sister Thorn is very dedicated to her tasks."

"Among other things…"

Clera's grin spread over her face like some lecherous beast on the hunt. "Speaking of dedication and other things, what _ is _ that mark on your throat, Little Nona? Not the pox, is it? I heard it's going around in the pleasure houses."

Nona reached up to snatch her headdress into place. Thankfully, her ears were safely hidden. As long as she stayed calm…

"Should I get Sister Rose?" Ruli asked, mock frowning.

"You should," Clera said. "Bet you'll find more of those marks, especially near her c---"

"Clera!" Three people shouted at once, only two of them actually in the room. 

"Who was that?" Nona hissed, looking around, almost surprised to find there was no nun lurking in a dark corner. 

Ruli waved her off. "Just Sister Thyme. She's going to be taking the heavier injuries off Sweet Rosie's hands now. The room beside this one's hers."

"Wait. Why didn't anyone tell me this?" Nona couldn't believe neither Kettle nor the abbess had alerted her to the presence of a new nun. 

"I'm sure they tried," Clera replied breezily. "But you weren't in your cell and no one checked the bathhouse after little Milla came out red-faced and looking like she'd seen a craw-spider munching on a bunny."

Nona narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what it is you're trying to imply---"

"Imply nothing. I'm telling you you're not nearly as subtle as you think you are."

"It was Ara's swagger that gave it away, really," Ruli said, eyeing Nona as if seeing her for the first time.

"What? Ara doesn't swagger."

"She did when I saw her last night."

"Or maybe…"

"Clera, shut it. Nothing happened." At least, nothing of the sort her friends were being so blatant about. 

"Is that what you tell her when she talks too much? Never thought you'd have such a firm hand, Nona."

Nona's upper lip curled in revulsion. "I'm going now," she all but growled.

"Oh, don't they grow up so fast?" Clera asked, sighing like a mother giving her daughter's hand away in wedlock. "I still remember when her head barely reached below my tits and...," Her voice faded as Nona hurried out of the sanatorium. Ruli's reply was thankfully lost in the bustle as Bray rang for second class. The urge to kick her friends into the sinkhole's muddy maw was so overpowering she could feel her toes tingling in anticipation. It came as no surprise then that both Grey and Mystic Classers scattered to get out of her way. She was no more merciful to latecomers than Sister Tallow had been. Even less so after spending time with her nosey brats for friends.

X

"Had enough yet, Sister Thorn?" Nona gasped, sweat blurring her eyes as her hand spasmed beneath her.

"My stamina is legendary, Sister Cage. You'll have to do better than this to wear me down." Despite her seeming bravado, Ara's cheeks were blotched red, trembles wracking her frame from head to toe. Several long curls clung to her face, obscuring her eyes but leaving the teasing curve of her lips bare. Muscles cut into sharp relief beneath her skin, she had never appeared more beautiful to Nona than she did at the moment. 

"This is cute and all," Clera drawled, "sickeningly sweet even, but are you sure you should be doing this in full view of the children?" She waved her hand at a gaggle of Red and Grey Classers. Eyes wide, jaws slack, the girls looked like they were bearing witness to giants brawling over the fate of the moon. "Might not be setting the best example of Ancestor virtue right now."

Ruli nodded. "Don't get me wrong. It's great to see you two finally get over yourselves. For two super fast quantal hunska spy killers you were awfully slow to get the point." She snapped her fingers, grinning wide. "But think! What will dearest Page say when she finds out you two were frolicking on the sands?"

"Suggest a better place, hopefully," Clera muttered.

"One with less sand," Ruli agreed.

"And more beds."

"And maybe less eyes?"

Clera eyed them dubiously. "I'm not so sure about that…"

"Will you---"

"---shut up---," Ara hissed through her teeth. 

"---and keep counting?" Nona finished, jaw clenched tight enough to pulverize her teeth. Her arm spasmed. Invisible flames seemed to burn through her blood, clawing along her lungs until talons burst from her mouth in shuddering gasps. Every involuntary twitch threatened to knock her off balance. Toes curled numb, Nona prayed as she had never prayed before. 

Prayed for her arm to hold out. For her knuckles not to pop. For her toes not to fall off. 

And most important of all, she prayed for Ara to collapse into a sweaty, gasping heap before she herself did. 

"Another one for Sister Thorn," Ruli called and several girls cheered. 

Nona glowered at her novices. The effect it had was minimal. 

"See, Cage?" Ara whispered as she completed another press-up. "Legendary stamina."

"I'll show you legendary stamina." Nona tried to growl, to snarl, to give herself a much needed boost. All that emerged around her words however was a pitifully high wheeze. It was distressing. As Mistress Blade, the woman in charge of both the Red and Grey in the abbess's stead, as the one to shape a new generation of fighting nuns, it was imperative she be of outstanding prowess. 

And right now she was a huffing, wheezing, near on deathly exhausted mess. 

Clera shook her head, disbelieving. "Isn't Nona supposed to have gerant in her? Those can keep going for hours!"

Ruli shrugged. "Maybe? But I'm guessing the hunska won out. All speed, shit stamina."

"Shit stamina indeed." Clera's crawling smirk could have made a granite wall blush. "C'mon, Little Nona. It's just press-ups! How do you plan on satisf---"

Ruli clamped a hand over Clera's mouth and hissed, "Language! There are children here, remember?"

Clera scowled but bit off her words in favor of a magnanimously crude gesture.

Nona watched her, slack-jawed as she mimed something, something involving her tongue and… "Clera!" Barely more than a croak, all her would-be shout did was leave her swaying dangerously. 

"And that's two hundred and fifty for our favorite Thorn."

_ What? _

Nona turned her head to stare as Ara lowered herself flat before pressing up again. It was slow going, but she completed the circuit before going flat again. Her face held little expression, the ghost of a rhyme playing about her lips. 

_ Over two hundred? _

With no sleeves to obscure her arms, Nona was treated to an eyeful as Ara's muscles stretched and swelled, a multitude of scars dancing across her skin in fascinating patterns. The large starburst where a four-sided bolt had skewered into her triceps rippled in time with the four serpentine trails winding all the way from shoulder to wrist, a gift from a barbed chain. And oddest of all, a distorted, multi-tendrilled sigil, reminder of a quantal duel that had left her unable to touch the Path for near on half a year. 

Nona's scalp crawled just staring at it. Ara claimed the thing hurt no more or less than her other scars, and Mistress Path had simply counseled that if she was so eager to spread her pieces across eternity, she need only leap from a high enough cliff. What, if any, effect the thing had was subtle enough to not be a bother. 

Curled in the small of her back, Nona's fist twitched. The urge to reach out and touch danced across her fingertips, running as hot and cold as the entirety of the arm her weight teetered on. 

Even exhausted, sweaty and covered from head to toe in sand, Ara was a sight to behold. 

"Oh, come on!" Clera shouted. 

"It's okay." Ruli sounded smug. "You can pay me back in Barron's port."

"Are you insane? I could buy Castle Galamsis three times over with half a barrel of that thing!"

"Expensive bets carry expensive prices. And your champion, sad to say, is drooling instead of competing."

_ What? _

"You bet against me?" Nona bit out. 

"It's not personal, Nona. When you've seen Ara go toe to toe with armies and walk out the other side, you learn not to bet against her endurance."

"I'll bet you also counted on Nona's eyes getting the better of her," Clera grumbled.

"Of course! Restraint is kin to virtue and Nona hasn't had any to spare in a long while."

Argument forgotten, her friends slung arms around each other and cackled like wild hens. The expression on her face seemed only to inflame them. 

"F...fu---" Enraged, embarrassed, and entirely too enamored with Ara's breathless sighs, Nona tipped too far to the left. Her wrist gave a sickening pop, her snarl emerged a howl, and she smashed face-first into the sand. 

Of all the above happenings, it was hitting the sand that truly grated.

Hours later, after enduring Sweet Rosie's tender care and Sister Thyme's not so subtle winks and nudges, Nona was finally alone to nurse her wounded pride. Since a sprained wrist wasn't deemed cause enough to forfeit her place in the bet, the loss stood. Thankfully, Sister Thorn had almost always taken her wins and losses with near equal grace. The same couldn't be said of Nona. Or Clera. Or Harp, who'd somehow got her finger in the pot without Ruli cutting it off.

A soft knock sounded at her door and Nona groaned. "Clera, I'm in no mood for another lecture. And no, I _ can't _pay you back in favors. The abbess would have my hide." She was understandably attached to the latter.

_ It's me, silly. _

Nona was up and yanking open the door before the scroll in her lap could even begin its inevitable descent. 

Ara blinked, amused either by Nona's haste or her state of dress. Or the embarrassed flush that spread across her cheeks once she looked down and realized she'd missed several crucial buttons. 

Nona reached out and unceremoniously tugged her in before closing the door with a not very subtle clang. In a cell further down someone sucked her teeth while another muttered furiously about latecomers and their questionable manners. It sparked a debate on mandated sleeping hours and capital punishment that ended only once Sister Oak let loose a snarl that shook dust from the rafters. 

Ara stifled a giggle. 

Nona just shook her head. "Unbelievable," she muttered. The things nuns could get up to still left her baffled sometimes. 

Ara removed a porcelain bottle from beneath her outer habit, along with two clay cups and a chunk of something wrapped in cloth. _ I brought mulled wine. And cheese. _

Nona blinked. _ What for? I've already eaten. _

Ara rolled her eyes. _ It's a late-night snack. To cheer you up. _

_ Are you trying to get me drunk, Sister Thorn? _

_ Yes, because sweet wines are great for late-night orgies beneath the moon. _

_ And how do you know what is and isn't drunk during orgies? _

_ I know because this wine is so mild it couldn't knock Jula out if she drank a barrel of it in one go. _

A bold claim, if ever Nona had heard any. _ Alright. But if my head starts spinning I'll toss you into the sinkhole myself. _

The cup Ara pressed into her hand was warm, warmer than it should have been even for being carried in an inner pocket. 

_ Where did you hide this? _

The stare Ara graced her with would not have looked out of place on an exasperated Rule. It was a stare that made you feel as if you'd been caught dragging your already sodden underthings through the muck after crawling out from under the Necessary. _ It's mulled wine, Nona. You know, wine that's been heated and mixed with honey and cinnamon? Over a fire? In hot water? So it gets warm? _

Nona huffed. _ I get it. _

_ Good. That was embarrassing for us both. I don't think I've ever in my life had to explain the consistency of mulled wine. _

They sat side by side on Nona's cot. Thanks to Clera, Ruli, and Ara herself, she'd amassed a near fortune in soft furs. Even with the heat provided by the pipes, there was nothing quite so comfortable as curling up beneath a pile of the stuff, insulated against inevitable snoring and unyielding stone. 

_ It's a gift from Clera, by the way. Aldian black wine. Ruli claims kings once crucified their sons for daring to drink the stuff in their presence without permission. _

Nona wasn't so sure she'd call it a gift, not when Clera had offered everything including the clothes on her back in exchange. _ Really? Seems like another tall tale to me. Remember when she said the Durns water the fields their bees use with the blood of captured soldiers and it turns out it's only symbolic? _

_ Nice story though. I guess she wanted the mead to appear even more menacing. _

_ Even more menacing? It stripped paint from a wall! How much more reason did you need to be convinced it could strip flesh from bone? _

Ara grinned. _I guess I had to see it for myself. Ruli is_ _a teller of too tall tales._

_ Hmph. True enough. _ Nona looked into her cup, eyeing the dubious darkness gazing back sullenly from its confines. _ You're sure this won't spin my head? _It didn't smell too strong, to be sure, but Nona had more than once found herself flat on her back, head spinning as wildly as Mistress Academia's globe after drinking something her friends deemed suitable for the 'lightheaded'. 

Ara clinked her cup against Nona's. _ Trust me. I wouldn't give you anything strong. A day spent worshipping the Necessary on my knees isn't exactly what I consider a smashing success either. _

Nona nonetheless took a cautious sip. A lightly sweet taste, conjuring the image of dark berries, darker grapes and a deep, starless night, spread itself across her tongue. Warmth bled down to her belly, milder even than Sweet Mercy's own iconic red. By the time she licked her lips clean, the cup was empty, her caution replaced by a smile that practically engraved itself into the bone. _ Ancestor's pendulous teats, this was divine. _

Ara snorted into her cup. The backwash left her with wine trickling down her cheeks even as she struggled not to laugh out loud. _ Ancestor's what?! Jula is going to skin you alive herself if she ever hears this one. _

Nona couldn't find it within herself to care. She eyed the porcelain bottle, carefully took in its large, round belly and flat top and asked, _ How much more of this is there? Because this, this is… _

_ ... divine? _ Ara finished, grinning now. _ Enough for four, even if you're generous with the cups. _

_ Good. Very good. _

_ It'll last even longer if you sip it instead of pouring it all back. _

_ I suppose… _

Ara patted herself down, frowning as she searched her pockets. _ I swear I had a handkerchief in here somewhere. _

Nona bit her lip, wondering. Since their conversation in the bathhouse, this was the first time in nearly a month they were alone together. Clera and Ruli had left, both of them bound for opposite sides of empire. Jula was ensconced in the tests her Mystic Class novices were taking. And Kettle went east, intent on the findings that claimed a new, even darker Battle Queen had risen. The only interruptions that could assail them now would come from the abbess and the Church. And anyone who grew too annoyed with their not so quiet merrymaking. 

She had that night, promised to give them a chance. The want, the desire. This need she had to touch and be touched. Not by just anyone, but her friend. 

_ Ara. _

Ara looked up, a question in her eyes. They had yet to broach the subject of her recklessness, of the bravery that so easily translated into new injury. But tonight… Tonight was time for a conversation of a different sort. One not likely to end in petulant scowls or exasperated huffs. 

Nona gathered her courage, took firm hold of her tongue and asked, soft enough to keep the walls from absconding with her words, "Can I kiss you?" 

Any other time and even thinking, let alone speaking the words aloud would have left her tongue-tied and blushing profusely. But Ara had come to her cell bearing gifts. Fresh from the bathhouse, hair still damp and curling in a picturesque tangle, she looked ready for a night of mischief. Or one of tender closeness, requiring little more than soft furs and a room with a door. The latter two they had. The first had yet to be decided.

Ara's frown deepened, hands stilling in her pockets as something akin to disbelief flashed across her features. Gone before Nona could blink, it was swiftly followed by a kind of bemused bewilderment, as if she were trying to puzzle out what could possibly have led them all the way to this moment. _ You want to kiss me? _

_ I...yes. _ Nona set aside her insecurities, her questions and the nagging thoughts that had once been her own devils in the flesh. _ I do _, she said, firmer now, ensuring no hesitation could snag her words. 

Slowly but surely the questions threatening to spill from her eyes to her lips bled away, and Ara took Nona's hand in her own, smile so shy it made Nona feel like a giant teetering on the edge of a steep cliff arcing above eternity. "I'd very much like that," came her whispered answer.

Remembering the night, near on ten years ago when her friend had hauled her out of bed for a conversation that ended in them sharing the power of the Path in a manner not taught anywhere near the Ark, Nona bumped their shoulders together. _ The focus is almost here, if that'll make things easier. _

_ So we can crawl back into our cots after freezing in the rain? Oh, no. I'm getting a little too old for clandestine forays into the night. Let's leave that to the novices. _

_ Agreed. _ The furs were warmer and that much more comfortable. _ But first… _ Nona leaned forward and brushed her lips against Ara's temple. _ Let's see to your face _.

Ara shivered and squeezed her fingers but stayed still. 

Nona inhaled the scent of her hair, the sweetness of the wine mingling with the mild tang of flesh. Slow she went, touching with little more than mouth and the tip of her tongue. The scar curving across Ara's cheek was rough around the edges, strangely smooth along the center, but not near as prominent as the curved hook that bisected her lips and chin. Nona skirted her lips in favor of a mild nip and Ara gasped. In anticipation? Disappointment? "Patience," Nona murmured, teeth grazing along her jaw. 

"Don't test me, Cage."

Nona breathed a laugh. Who knew her patience could run so thin so swiftly? _ Good things come to those who wait, Sister Thorn. _

_ If so, then I'll have earned far more than one night can gift me. _

Nona damn near swallowed her tongue. Dark intent lent an unusual light to the startling blue of Ara's eyes. Were it not for the soft fullness of her lips, Nona might have thought herself about to be devoured in the most delirious way possible. 

_ Kiss me, Cage. _

Obliging her request came as easy as admitting she would do no less but certainly craved more. 

Cool fire and tender fullness, Ara tasted of dark wine and a timeless promise. She breathed in, the pressure upon Nona's lips so light she ached to pull her friend closer. To feel her, all power and potential, wrapped in skin soft enough to rival the darkness between stars. 

Lightheaded and shivering, though Nona had never before faced a land-breaker, she knew now what it would be like to stand at the heart of the storm, whipped to and fro by winds that could carve furrows deep enough to envelop hills into the frozen earth. 

_ Breathe… _

Nona gasped, and Ara's tongue glided into her mouth. Restraint had never ranked very high among her virtues, and Nona had no need to play pretend. She wrapped her arms around Ara's waist, pulling her close enough to stoke the fire within to a wildfire inferno. No rage this, only desire fierce enough to rival the focus at its zenith. 

Ara's golden curls tumbled about them, dancing along Nona's throat and collarbones. Delightful little shivers serenaded and tightened her belly, Ara's weight in her lap and fingers in the wild shock of her hair like Path power blazing through her bones. And just like the Path, every graze of teeth, every touch whispering across her pulse, every sigh and moan and breathless shiver threatened to scatter her across the dark of eternity. 

But Ara's heat burned cool in contrast, and even as the kiss deepened and relieved Nona of her senses, there was calm also. The calm of murmured assurances, of a closeness in which their hearts beat as one, of a promise that made no demands but asked only understanding and a tender resolution. 

"Nona…"

Nona collapsed backward, gasping like she'd leaped from the crown of a mountain high. Ara's palm was pressed flat between her breasts, the buttons undone by quick, clever fingers. Weight canted on her left hand, she leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. 

_ Are you alright? _

Nona blinked several times, trying to will her eyes back into function. _ I… yes. Just you wait until I remember how to properly breathe again. _

Ara chuckled. _ Breathless, are you? _

_ And who's doing would that be? _

_ Ours. _

There was a breathless edge to the word that made Nona's fingers tighten their hold on Ara's thighs. A low moan was the welcome reply, one Nona stole away with another kiss. 

In a life defined by the machinations of the empire's powerful, in a world confined by the inexorable approach of ice walls miles high, where the focus was the coveted savior of all, to grasp desire with both hands was a type of faith all its own. And while she might question, and doubt and fear, Nona knew the potential this moment carried would echo into eternity as sure as did their steps upon the Path. 

Theirs was a promise made, a promise kept, with many more to follow. That is, if Sister Thorn could be persuaded not to burn too bright too swift.

"Ow!" she hissed suddenly, pulling Nona's hand away from her thigh. 

"Wait. Are you bleeding? Is that blood on my hand? Tell me that's blood on my hand." Nona stared, bewildered. Surely she hadn't strayed _ that _ far.

"A little. Maybe you shouldn't be touching me there, but it's just a scratch! I promise."

"Ara!"

**Author's Note:**

> No one will convince me Ara didn't read 'Alexander The Great's Guide to Burning Gloriously Bright and Dying Tragically Young'. The tactic of attacking numerically superior foes head-on while stupendously outnumbered isn't one typically employed by non-idiots, and something tells me she didn't learn all that much from her fight with the Pelarthi, save 'kill more of them next time'. 
> 
> Please, feel free to tell me what you think. This one was a bit more difficult to write overall, and I hope it doesn't show too much.


End file.
